


The Heroine Hosts

by TeamGwenee



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Mrs Lannister of Maidenpool is preparing for the arrival of her father and aunt, when some unexpected and most unwanted guests decide to pay a visit.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 23
Kudos: 120





	1. Chapter 1

Welcoming her father and aunt into her home was well within Mrs Lannister’s limitations. There was no other choice but for it to be. 

Mrs Lannister of Maidenpool, formerly Miss Brienne Tarth of Evenfall Hall, had become accustomed to welcoming guests into her home, and playing the role of hostess. It was not a role she relished, but she did her duty sufficiently so that none could criticise her lack of civility. She put out good food with good china and good silverware and filled the drawing room with blossoms fresh from the garden. She made sure only to invite several families at a time, so that after the pleasantries had been made, she could retreat into the background as a gentle tide of chatter swept over her, mindlessly counting the minutes until she could partake in her true pleasures. This she did about once a week, and paying calls in turn she did likewise. Around two nights a week, she attended dinners and parties, where the large crowds were welcoming for the anonymity they allowed her. 

Outside of those civilities, she rode and hunted and fenced with her husband. She accompanied Mrs Stark in visiting the poor, and went adventuring across the countryside with the intrepid Arya Stark. Her free evenings she dined with her husband and his brother and whatever friends came to call. Arya and Adam Marbrand and all others whose company were so easy it was no greater trial entertaining them than being alone. 

Her aunt, it had to be said was a greater trial, but her father she longed to see and they were family both. For that, they were much loved and much welcomed. 

Mr Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock, estranged father of her most adored husband, was neither of those things. 

“What the devil is he doing here?” Jaime swore, batting away Peck’s hand as the lad made to scrape away the remaining shaving cream on his left cheek. Jaime stormed from his dressing room into his bedroom and towards the larger window, green eyes sparkling with vexation. 

“Who is it?” Brienne moved to the window, wrapping a pretty embroidered shawl tight about her shoulders, covering her corset and petticoat. Rolling through the wrought iron gates and down through an avenue of oaks, a handsome carriage trundled into the courtyard. Embossed in gold on the doors was a proud lion rampant. The coachmen and footmen both were dressed in dashing liveries crimson silk. Twelve matching greys thundered down the avenue, heads drawn back and white feather plumes wafting in the breeze.

The carriage rattled to a halt and the footmen jumped down. One went about organising the luggage, the other opened the door and extended a hand.

Out stepped the most beautiful woman Brienne had ever seen. Golden hair, radiant in the winter sun. An emerald green velvet pelisse lined with white fur, with a giant matching muff and bonnet. She stared up at the handsome, airy house with barely concealed disdain, and Brienne instinctively withdrew somewhat from the window. 

Following her came an exquisitely pretty little girl half swallowed by her own muff and bonnet, pink cheeks and dazzling green eyes peeking out behind the fur. A lovely young woman in a simple grey cloak and untrimmed bonnet followed behind her, a plump little boy clutching at her hand.

Finally, like the corpse of an emperor emerging from his tomb, Mr Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock stepped out of the carriage.

~

  
His father’s study was always too hot. Overstuffed with gold ornaments and stuffed heads and treasures from the east. Large, but crammed and carpeted and a fire near always burning. 

The views from Casterly Rock could be beautiful. Overlooking the wide sea with the foaming waves crashing violently against the rocks, the wide expanse of ocean stretching out over the horizon.

Mr Tywin Lannister had no windows in his office. 

Jaime stood near swooning from the heat. He was a hardy boy. It took more than a fire to see him knocked off his feet. But his father’s study was the seventh layer of hell, truly a furnace in the midst of summer. Staring down into his father’s empty green eyes, truly the only cold thing in that room, Jaime found his courage nearly faltering, and it took all his resolve not to back down in the hopes of receiving a lesser punishment.

He might very well have, had he not known that whatever his father had planned for him, could not hold a candle for what he would do to Tyrion. Tywin Lannister was harsh on Jaime, but he loathed Jaime’s baby brother. For Tyrion, Jaime would hold firm. 

As Tywin Lannister brought out the long, stiff horse whip, Jaime clenched his fists and ground his jaw. His father would never see the fear he brought out in him. No one would ever see Jaime Lannister tremble.

~

“For all that it is a surprise visit, there really could not be a better time for it,” Brienne rambled nervously as Jaime tied up the laces of her stays and helped her into her morning dress. His father would not care to be left waiting, and Jaime would not let Brienne go into battle un-armored. “Everything has been arranged for guests. The flowers, the drawing rooms….and cook always makes too much, though I will see if she can stretch things out further. We have the Starks coming, and the Marbrands, so there will be entertainment. Will the arrangements be enough do you think?” she demanded anxiously.

Jaime huffed. Brienne had near worked herself to death ensuring their home would be perfect for her father. Or more accurately, her aunt. The hours she spent pouring over the linen and menus and flower arrangements. For a wretched viper of a woman who deserved no part of Brienne’s life. Although his wife was coming round to the knowledge that her aunt would always find fault, she still nursed a desire to make her proud, and a conviction she owed it to the woman who raised her to prove she could be a credit to her family.

“A stable and a crust of bread is good enough for my father and sweet sister,” he snapped, helping her with her stockings, not even taking the moment to relish tying the ribbon around her firm white legs. “And you can be sure the children will make no complaint, they are good-natured, though I know not how, coming from our family.”

“Maybe they take after you,” Brienne suggested with such innocence that Jaime could not help but kiss her.

“Perhaps they will not stay long,” Jaime said weakly, for he had seen the luggage and knew that not to be true. He offered thanks that Tyrion had to be in town for the week, and would be spared their father’s presence.

“Maybe it will be very merry,” Brienne suggested, her blue eyes crinkling in hope. “My father and aunt and your family. It will be the first time we will all be together as one family.” She grasped Jaime’s hand. “It must be a good thing,” she insisted. “That he came to call at all. After swearing you would never see him again.”

Jaime smiled helplessly at his wife’s innocence. To her, family was sacrosanct. Why else would she allow that wretched aunt of her’s to darken their doorstep. If Brienne were to know the full extent of Tywin’s treatment of Jaime, he might very well find him barred from the halls of Maidenpool. But Jaime’s pride placed a limit his honesty, even to this wife whom he esteemed and trusted above all others. 

He squeezed her hands back, and accompanied her from their bedroom to greet their unexpected guests.

Jaime consoled himself that at the very least, it would be pleasing to see Myrcella and Tommen again.


	2. Chapter 2

“We have a fine party gathering tonight,” Brienne said nervously as she led the guests into the best sitting room, “My father and aunt are expected soon, and the Starks are joining us for dinner, and the Marbrands as well.”

Despite his dread, Jaime could not help but smile. Brienne was trying so hard, so anxious for amends to be made between the family. For all of Jaime’s assurances, she had never forgiven herself completely for Jaime’s disinheritance. And, he suspected, there was every chance that Brienne believed to reconcile father and son would finally prove herself as a wife in her Aunt Roelle’s eyes. 

Mr Lannister, who had been so disgusted with his son’s choice of bride that he struck him from his will, listened attentively to Brienne’s plans for dinner. “I hear Viscount of Dragonstone is in the area,” he said lightly, stern and upright in the best seat by the fire. “Will he be joining us?”

Ah. Jaime sent his sister a discrete look, but she was too busy examining the crystal and giving orders to the pretty governess.  
  
“Make sure they rest an hour before supper Miss Tyrell,” Cersei said coolly, “And have Myrcella prepared to sing for us tonight. I would my sweet good sister see what an accomplished young woman her niece is.” 

“I believe that Viscount of Dragonstone will be staying with them, and have extended my invitation to him,” Brienne replied politely. “He sees so little of his son, it seems a shame to ask him to spare him for a night.” 

“Indeed,” Mr Lannister said, the man who thought nothing of travelling all the way from town to country to collect a favourite cravat, only to leave without paying a single call to the nursery. “The Targaryens are old family friends, it shall please us greatly to see him again, will it not, Cersei?”

Here at last, Cersei looked away from Miss Tyrell and the crystal. “Oh indeed,” she said, her flippant manner rather betrayed by the sparkle in her eyes.

Jaime quietly moved over to his sister, lowering his voice as Brienne continued to strive for light conversation with his father. He would endeavour to rescue her soon, but not before telling his sister she had been caught out.

“Now I understand,” he whispered softly, as his twin held herself stiff and rigid. “You are trying for Rhaegar Targaryen again. His wife is safely dead for a year, and our acquaintance with the Starks is your way of trying for his hand again once more. I had wondered why you would accompany father as he comes to restore me to his will. I daresay that even Casterly Rock is a small price in exchange for a title and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Tywin had long harboured hopes of seeing his daughter married with his old school friend’s heir, hopes he had foolishly confided in his ambitious daughter before they were cruelly dashed. It was a slight that father and daughter nursed for a good decade, all through Cersei’s marriage to Robert Baratheon, and all through her widowhood. 

“You need not take that tone with me, brother,” Cersei hissed back. “If you help us to succeed in making the match, you will be restored to father’s inheritance, I will be a Viscountess, and all will be forgiven with father.”

“I care not about father or the Rock,” Jaime asserted. “Do as you please with Rhaegar Targaryen, but if I hear a single word against Brienne, you will be gone from this house before you have time to put on your bonnet.”

Cersei smiled over the rim of her cup. “Fret not dear brother, I will be kind to your new pet.”

Jaime was just about to rebuke her, when the door swung open.

“Mr Tarth and Mrs Sparrow are without, Mrs Lannister,” Peck announced nervously,

“Father!” Brienne declared, jumping to her feet. She nodded quickly at her guests, before dashing to the door. There in the courtyard, taller than her by a head anf wrapped up warm in an old fashioned carriage cloak with many collars, Mr Selwyn Tarth stretched open his arms and welcomed his daughter into his embrace. Slight and birdlike, Aunt Roelle watched the unseemly display with narrowed lips. Catching sight of Mr Lannister watching her from the doorway, she quickly fixed her lips into a smile, and pecked her niece on the cheek. 

“Come in, come in,” Brienne beckoned, tucking her hand into her father’s elbow. “I have everything arranged for you, I do hope you are comfortable.”

“My dear, I do declare I have not seen a more handsome house,” her doting father cried, a passionate declaration considering he had seen only their entry hall. For all that it was light and elegant and all things pleasing, such a judgement had better been reserved after seeing a few of the drawing rooms and the gardens. But Mr Selwyn Tarth was determined to be in admiration with all that he saw, and the comfortable rooms, simply but handsomely decorated, required little effort from the man to find favour. 

As the newly arrived guests were divested of their cloaks, Brienne and Jaime alike felt their hearts lighten, for Mr Tarth’s delight at arriving at his daughter’s new home was un-equaled, and they could not help but be enlivened by his hearty presence. 

Watching on in well concealed dismay, Aunt Roelle resigned herself to her niece rarely being out of her adoring father’s presence. A great deal of instruction Roelle had hoped to lavish on her niece would have to be saved for the scant moments when they would be alone, for they could not be said before her good-brother, and yet he seemed unlikely to be long out of his daughter’s company for the length of their stay. 

The visit suddenly seemed a good deal less enjoyable. 

“My dear niece,” Roelle cut Brienne off as the girl eagerly told her father about the new horse she and Jaime were breaking in. “This is all very interesting, but is has been such a long journey and I would so like to rest a little before the guests arrive for dinner.”  
  
“Of course, aunt,” Brienne said quickly, a satisfying flush of shame spreading over her cheeks. “Although, some guests have already arrived.” She lowered her voice, exchanging a significant look with her husband. “Mr Lannister's father has arrived, and his sister and her children. It was most unexpected, but very welcomed.”

“Indeed?” Mr Tarth asked, beaming like a small boy. “What a joyous occasion. Let us hope this visit will bring all the domestic and family harmony all could hope for.”  
  
Brienne nodded, her eyes strained behind her taut smile. “I am sure we will have a very merry time,” she asserted, biting on her lip and then fixing a smile on her face once more. “Very merry.” 

  
  
  
  


The blue drawing room at Maidenpool had quite probably never been filled with quite so many people who loathed each other.

Jaime was still estranged from his family in heart, and the smallness in Mrs Sparrow’s eyes as she inspected every element of her niece’s domestic arrangement, storing away each fault to pour out later, had only increased Jaime’s dislike of the woman.

Mr Stark, already dubious as to his wife and daughter’s friendship with the Lannisters, found his loathing for the elder Mr Lannister complete, and much disgusted was he by the evident playing for his good brother’s hand by both Mr Lannister, and his daughter, so recently widowed. 

Mrs Lannister as ensconced in the corner with her father, and the reunion was the only true source of pleasure in that room, except for Miss Arya Stark who; unbeknown to her sister, had slipped a beetle down Miss Sansa’s sash and was waiting for the outburst of squealing any second yet.

The Viscount sat mournful and brooding by the window, as was preferred after dinner hobby. Mrs Baratheon, resplendent in scarlet satin, crooned beside him, while he kept his gaze fixed steadfastly out of the window. 

Jaime would have been happy to watch his sister humiliate herself all night, as his father and Mr Stark competed to see who could wear away their teeth the fastest by grinding them down with dislike. But young Myrcella, who was just approaching the age where mortification was the greatest of all sufferings, could not bear to see her mother act like a foolish girl making her debut.

“Mother!” she spoke up at last, cutting her off just as Cersei began running her hand down the Viscount’s arm and complimented the knot of his cravat. “Did you not say you would like me to sing tonight?”

“Some music, oh yes!” Mr Tarth agreed enthusiastically, beaming around the room. “Nothing could be more delightful.”

“Will you accompany me, Miss Tyrell?” Myrcella asked quickly, and the pretty but penniless governess who had been watching the Viscount carefully from the corner of her eye, obliged happily. In a simple white muslin frock, with a single rose in her hair, Miss Margaery Tyrell was the very image of innocence and modesty, and as her long white fingers began to dance lightly over the ivory keys, her head bent reverently over the instrument, none could miss the Viscount’s gaze settling upon her.

That very moment, Cersei resolved the governess would not be joining the company for dinner for the rest of the visit. 

It mattered little, for the Viscount of Dragonstone had already resolved to call for the enchanting governess the very next day, and ask her on a walk. 


	3. Chapter 3

The first length of the visit managed to pass without incident. After the first night, Mr Stark had tactfully decided to avoid Maidenpool until the Lannisters had left, to prevent coming to blows with the man he loathed so utterly. The elder Mr Lannister and Mrs Baratheon alike were dismayed, for it allowed them precious little opportunity to be near the Viscount.

They need not have fretted. The Viscount began discretely calling at Maidenpool every day, alas for Cersei, it was not she for whom he called. 

Inheritance be damned, Jaime did nothing to press his sister’s suit. Nor did he endeavour to be in his father’s presence. Instead he did all he could to avoid it, and to keep Brienne from being alone with her unspeakable aunt. He had quickly learned Brienne was safest when in the presence of her father, and so he did all in his power to ensure Brienne and Mr Tarth were in each other’s company. An affair that neither held any objection to.

Often they took the children exploring, or else riding along the grounds. Other times they took them to town or to visit the farmers, or to paddle in the Six Maiden’s Lake. Their merriment and easy laughter stirred Jaime’s stomach, and happily he obliged them in gathering flowers and flora to take back to their ‘Uncle Tarth’ as they now called the genial giant for identification.

Inheritance and his father be damned, Jaime swore that he would not allow himself to be estranged from his niece and nephew, nor his and Brienne’s prospective children kept apart from their cousins. Myrcella and Tommen were all he wanted of his family, and the only true reason he did not hurry along his father’s departure. 

Brienne was luxuriating in her father’s presence. Everything about Maidenpool pleased him, and he was delighted to see his most beloved child happy and thriving. If Aunt Roelle loomed in the corner of Brienne’s blue sky like a thunder cloud, Brienne assured herself that her aunt was only anxious that Brienne make a success of her marriage, and that any criticism coming her way would be kindly meant, as it always was.

Nonetheless, Brienne rather cowardly found herself being left alone with her aunt when possible.

In the end, it was not Brienne herself whom Mrs Sparrow was finally allowed to let out her grievances for her niece’s deficiencies, but the elder Mr Lannsiter himself. 

~

The letter was left on her pristine bed, neat and white on the tucked in covers. Written with dainty, pretty letters, Miss Margaery Tyrell wrote of the love shared between herself and the Viscount, their decision to elope, her good wishes for the family who had taken her in, her compliments to her hosts, and a request that her boots that she had sent to be rebuckled to the local town be forwarded onto her, addressed to the Viscountess of Dragonstone. 

Mrs Baratheon was feverish with anger. That she had once more been snubbed by the Viscount, this time for a governess, of all things! She, who had been born a Lannister of the Rock, thrown over for a simpering little upstart. Miss Margaery Tyrell had played the Viscount as skilfully as she had done the piano, and it occurred to Jaime that it was Myrcella who suffered the most from this development, for she would have had much to gain from Miss Tyrell’s instruction.

Both Myrcella and Tommen were desolate, as could be expected when their beloved governess had abandoned them and left them in the care of their wrathful mother and seething grandfather. They cleaved ever more to their uncle and his new family, all three of whom devoted themselves to their amusement and shielding them from the fury of their mother and grandfather. It seemed to Brienne that she only detached herself once, to make a plea with Mrs Stark to try and find a suitable governess, laughing and friendly and lively, who could withstand Mrs Baratheon’s tempers, so that the children need not return home alone.

They had already been interrogated once before, during a meeting that saw Tommen moved to tears. Myrcella was made of sterner stuff, and managed to disguise the role she and her romantic brother had played in the courtship, making themselves scarce when the Viscount came to call, and wisely turning blind and death to the visits. 

Brienne had only returned to the house to retrieve a book on birds from the library, for Tommen and Myrcella had seen a curious blue bird with a black and white beak hopping about, and were eager to know its name. 

Stepping carefully into the hallway, Brienne caught the sound of her aunt’s voice wafting from the front sitting room. Despite herself, Brienne inched closer so that she could what the words better, for she thought she had heard her name spoken.

“I must apologise that such a thing could happen in my niece’s house, Mr Lannister,” her adoring aunt simpered. Through a crack in the door, Brienne could see Mrs Sparrow perched at the end of the kissing couch nearest Mr Lannister’s armchair. “She is a well meaning girl, but her wit is as lacking as her beauty, and that she should allow such a scandal to occur is most shameful. I had hoped she would grow in sense, but she clearly remains an empty headed creature. I advise her most ardently to follow your good son in all things, and be obedient to his will, rest assured there, but as mistress of the house she must take responsibility for this sorry state of affairs. On her behalf, I apologise. And for myself as well, for as she who raised her, I must take on the burden of her _many_ shortcomings.”

“You concern yourself greatly with the doings of a niece who brings you such little pleasure,” Mr Lannister remarked dryly, taking comfort that at least in the hoped for match falling through, he could soon be away from Maidenpool and its tedious company. 

“I cherish Brienne as the daughter of my sainted sister,” Mrs Sparrow explained. “In her memory, I have done all I could for the unfortunate child. Simple and unremarkable as she is, I know my mother would grieve for her to be without a motherly influence. Although when I consider how she turned out, I rather fear her poor mother is happier having been spared seeing her grow.”

“There,” Mr Lannister said, for he never missed the opportunity to be cutting especially for the girl who had stolen his heir, “We are in agreement.” 

Brienne stood cold in the doorway, trembling beneath the heavy folds of her red country cloak. 

Numb in the fingers and in the heart, Brienne dissected her aunt’s words. Her Aunt Roelle could be cutting, yes, and Brienne had begun to accept that she sometimes bordered on cruelty and unfair criticism. But all this time, Brienne maintained it was all out of love for a difficult child, who everyone could see needed careful handling. If it was not….if all those sweet words that Roelle had dripped into Brienne’s ear were not true, then the early of Brienne’s childhood when her father had been so lost in grief, would have been entirely without love. She remembered how her aunt would take her into her arms after a scolding, or allow her into her bed during a fever. Sweet moments of comfort that were not to soothe a child she treasured dearly, but to ensure that Brienne would never turn against her lest she lose those brief moments of golden affection. Brienne saw it clearly now, card and clear and sharp as glass. To her face she could write off those words as criticism helpfully meant, but behind her back to the man she was fighting to impress...

Sickened, angered, a third emotion swept through Brienne like a tidal wave. Jaime. She had allowed his father into her home, certain that a reconciliation was the best thing for everyone. The best thing for her husband. Jaime had not wanted it, obliged only to please Brienne and to see his nieces and nephews. It had not been in his better interests, and her motives were selfish. She had encouraged Mr Lannister’s presence to soothe her own guilt over the inheritance, prove herself to her _wretched_ aunt, and to further justify that family was family, precious and sacred, no matter the cruelty of their words or the pain they kindled in the heart. 

“You cannot choose your niece,” Mr Lannister told Mrs Sparrow, now warming to the subject. “To do your duty and raise her in your sister’s place, all the while enduring her many deficicienes, only speaks to your credit. But my son’s judgement I cannot comprehend! You will not be offended when I say it is clear to all that your niece is no worthy lady of the Rock. That she should take my wife’s place is not to be born. My son brought shame on himself, his house and his mother when he thought to make that child his bride. LIke you, I share the burden of raising a disappointment, though all that I took cares to raise him with discipline. His willfulness in the match distresses me, and I assure you that I had never tolerated such behaviour in his youth. All displays of insolence and rebellion were dealt with most severely, and many a time he knew the feel of my rod.”

It was the book falling from Brienne’s hand and landing on the wooden floor with a thud that alerted her aunt and her father in-law to her presence.

“ _Get out,”_ she said. A mere whisper, yet it filled the room with ice and silence. 

“Brienne,” Mrs Sparrow said, gathering herself, “You are not to speak in such a manner to your guests, and your good-father to. Such incivility-”

Brienne smiled. For all that she yearned to see Mr Lannister gone, his departure needed more gentle handling. She knew that neither she nor Jaime wanted to see Tommen and Myrcella thrown onto the front doorsteps.

“I was addressing you, aunt,” Brienne said mildly. “You will have ten minutes to pack your things, and for me to arrange a carriage. After that, you are to be gone.”

Mr Lannister blinked. He was still disgusted with his son’s choice of wife, but Mrs Sparrow had turned white as curdled milk, and her eyes as round as pennies, and he could not help but admire such ability to strike fear into the hearts of others.

“Brienne,” Mrs Sparrow began, pouring melted sugar over her voice, “You would not cast me, your _own aunt,_ who loves you so dearly-”

“Get out now, or be present when I tell my father everything about your conduct,” Brienne said simply. She smiled again. “And I mean _everything._ ” She shrugged. “I still have your letters kept about. And I daresay they will prove very useful, as you assured me many times.”

Mr Lannister almost smirked. Now there was blackmail. If only the lady was not so unnatural in appearance. 

“My father will be back at the house within half an hour, my husband with him,” Brienne continued, “For your own sake, I suggest you be gone by then. It will not be better for you to be surrounded by the three of us, should you decide to disregard my wishes.”

~

Mr Tarth was the last of the guests to leave. Mr Lannister and his daughter followed the morning after, all talks of reconciliation thoroughly put aside. The only achievement made was that in return for never contesting his father’s will, on his behalf and his brother’s, Jaime would be allowed to continue his acquaintance with his niece and nephew. 

Mr Tarth stayed a further month. Neither he nor his daughter could bear to be parted, not after the truth about Mrs Sparrow came to light. Mr Tarth had been devastated by the revelation of his daughter’s suffering, her ill-treatment by a woman he had trusted and encouraged his daughter to do likewise. Brienne had little desire for him to leave until s _he_ was sure that _he_ was sure that Brienne was the happiest of women, and needed no concern felt on her behalf. Brienne also did not want her father returning to an empty home in such a state, and had once more turned to the redoubtable Mrs Stark for aid. Having already suggested the services of the athletic Miss Dacey Mormont as Myrcella and Tommen’s new governess, she once more took up the quill to beseech her uncle into visiting his old friend. 

Above all else, it was agreed it would be better for Mr Tarth to leave his departure until it could be sure that Mrs Sparrow had vacated the house, for the family honour depended very much on Mr Tarth never seeing his sister in-law in person ever again.

“Although I daresay that when you return, you will find all the good silverware quite vanished,” Jaime had commented dryly as he poured he and his wife another glass of wine each. 

“Let her take it,” Mr Tarth said, disturbingly grim faced and savage for such a genial man, “let her take it and let her be caught. Then we can hang her like a thief and all will be merrier for it.”


End file.
